With A Voice Like His
by WolfeyKitten
Summary: Fallout AU. Gilbert didn't want this to become complicated. He didn't want to become a fool who swallowed his emotions until they ate him up. He was going to make this simple and to the point. He was in love with this Austrian musician. Pruaus. Prussia/Austria. Hetalia.


_With A Voice Like His_

_Gilbert/Roderich_

_Gilbert didn't want this to become complicated. He didn't want to become a fool who swallowed his emotions until they ate him up. He was going to make this simple and to the point. He was in love with this Austrian musician._

_ATTENTION: This fic goes along with my ongoing fic Finem Pax Romana._

_A/N: This is what's been taking me so long, Gilbert and the gang's backstory. This is the last story I'm going to introduce to this AU, unless something spectacular changes my mind and I deem someone else's story to be worth a read. This one will be short, ohhh... two or three chapters I would say. Enjoy, and do leave a comment, if it's not too much trouble. _

* * *

_Chapter 1_

* * *

Many moments on the wasteland tended to be more mundane and insipid than their exciting and action-packed counterparts, but for a certain young raider, it was those moments that meant the most. For Gilbert Beilschmidt, it was not the exhilarating escapades or the infamous adventures he would reminisce on for years to come, but the uneventful nights that he spent falling in love. Yes, Gilbert, the "harshest and most unforgiving raider on the wastes", would go as far as to say that these petty feelings of longing and admiration for another human being could be referred to as _love. _Love for whom, you may ask? That question could be answered if Gilbert actually knew. The only knowledge Gilbert held of his lover was a voice, a sharp, intelligent voice with an accent not unlike his own. He knew the sound of fingertips playing breathtaking instrumentals of such elegance that the radio's poor speakers could only wish to capture the perfect keystrokes in their full beauty. He knew pauses between his beloved's words, intakes of breath that only he could have noticed, but it would be a long time yet before he ever knew a name. So long, in fact, that most would agree that the tale in question was a story for another day. For now, Gilbert's silly little love story would start here, miles and miles away from the excuse of a home he had left years ago.

* * *

_The capital wasteland, exactly 200 years after the war._

* * *

"Tonio! Heads up!" Gilbert tossed a small sack over a median of dead plants and dry fountains, praying that Antonio would catch it before it landed on the hard tile floor. There was a bandit in front of him and a bandit running behind him, there was no way he could risk confronting them both while he still held the precious cargo.

And as always, Antonio came through, catching the sack effortlessly on the other side of the decorative median. The boy was a young one, but he was reliable in tight situations like these. That was why Gilbert kept the little Spaniard around.

Without the burden of the sack, Gilbert unholstered a little gray pistol and aimed the weapon behind him. His feet continued to carry him forward down the wide hallway as his eyes darted back and he pulled the trigger on his pistol. Two shots echoed throughout the tall building, both landing a hit on the pursuer behind him. The bandit fell, unable to move on his new wounds.

Gilbert's attention diverted back to the man ahead of him, a skinny-looking bandit wearing rough leather padding and holding a good-sized gun. Gilbert studied his options carefully in the short time it took for him to advance on the bandit, pointing out the shallow sandbag wall the bandit fired his shots from behind.

Gilbert veered slightly to the right of his target, stepping up onto the sandbags and launching himself through the air with a powerful kick. Time seemed to slow as the nose of Gilbert's pistol met with the forehead of the startled bandit, and he spared the man one last smirk before he pulled his trigger.

_Bang._

Time sped back up as the Bandit fell backwards and Gilbert's feet reunited with the ground. He resumed his pace and his eyes searched for Antonio. Though he could not see his friend over the long-dead garden between them, he could certainly hear him as his name was shouted over the sound of gunshots.

"Gilbert!" Came Antonio's cry, and the sack reappeared from the other side of the hallway and landed in Gilbert's awaiting arms. He heard gunshots and cries of pain in voices that he was thankful that he was unable to recognize.

His feet raced to bring him closer and closer to the exit, four double glass doors at the end of this excruciatingly long hallway of one of the airports around Washington DC. The hall opened up to an even larger room, with glass ceilings and counters on either side. Shots were fired from Gilbert's right, and he did not hesitate as he fired a few shots back at his assailant.

His eyes flew to his left, were Antonio had matched his pace the whole way down the hallway and had emerged into the open room with him. When their eyes met, they both smiled widely, breaking into an adrenaline-fueled laugh as they were brought closer and closer to the glass doors.

With the small sack still in Gilbert's possession, they pushed forward to the doors, hardly slowing down as they both aimed their weapons for the set that wasn't boarded up. Shots fired into the glass, leaving cracks and shattering it in most places so that it was weak enough for the raiders to smash through. And smash through they did, shielding their faces with leather-clad arms as they barreled into the sunlight. The rest of the glass shattered around them as they refused to slow their pace, Gilbert and Antonio running side by side down the road that led away from the airport.

Shots still came at them as they ran, but they were ignored. It wasn't until the area around them was silent did they finally slow down.

They both slowed to a stop, panting heavily and bending inwards to rest their bodies. Antonio collapsed to the ground, laying on his back and spreading his arms, his eyes fixated on the sky. Gilbert quickly joined him, a soft laugh making its way through his thick pants.

It wasn't long before Antonio was laughing as well, the precious breath he was working to regain unwillingly leaving his lungs once again.

"I saw that thing you did, shooting that bandit in the head as you jumped. That was good, _amigo,_" Antonio breathed between pants.

"_Danke, _you didn't do so bad yourself."

They lay on the road panting for a long time, drawing in the cool, sharp air until their breaths slowed and Gilbert sat up, remembering the precious loot they had gone to such great lengths to obtain. Gilbert reached for the discarded burlap sack, undoing the knot in the fabric and pulling out the mechanical device within. He could feel Antonio's curious eyes behind him as they examined the device.

It's wristband was a thick sort of leather material, and the metal around its screen was decorated with knobs and sliders. The screen itself was a dark green color as it waited to be turned on.

"So," Gilbert started, "this is a Pip-boy, eh? Looks like a piece of trash to me." He turned the device over in his hands.

"Can I see it?"

Gilbert handed the Pip-boy over to Antonio's outstretched hands.

"Good thing it's worth a fortune out here, but to be honest I could probably make something at least ten times better than that old thing."

"Then why don't you, huh Gil? Are you telling me we could be living large instead of scrounging around?" Antonio asked, a smile pulling at his lips.

"Pfffft, I like scrounging around. It's fun. The world just isn't ready for the raw talent of Gilbert Beilschmidt." He crossed his pale arms.

Antonio laughed. "So I chose my friend very well I see. When the world is ready, Gilbert will rise up and make us lots of caps, yeah?"

"That's right, Antonio, so many caps. We will be able to roll in the caps one day, you'll see."

Antonio handed the Pip-boy back over to Gilbert, a smile on his lips as the German made his promise. "And I will be eagerly awaiting that day,_ mi amigo._"

"So, how do you figure this piece of junk turns on?" Gilbert fidgeted with a few of the knobs on the front of the Pip-boy, repeatedly flicking one of the sliders back and forth.

_Click click, clickclickclickclick. Click. _

"Gilbert, stop that, you might break it."

"I think it might already be broken." Gilbert flipped the mechanism around in his hands, looking for a power switch of some sort. He turned a knob, but all that resulted was a soft crackling noise for a few straight seconds. The sound quickly became annoying, so he turned the knob back. Still nothing appeared behind the plain, green glass.

"Give me that," Antonio took the Pip-boy from Gilbert's hands, maneuvering in the same way his partner had just been doing. He fiddled with a few switches before giving up, handing the Pip-boy back to his fellow raider.

"Well, we can't sell it broken," stated Antonio.

"But I was told that it _wasn't _broken. I am _so _going to hit that piece-of-shit, red-eyed, freaky-teeth guy next time I see him. Maybe it's just out of batteries or something. Let's take it back to Mr. Fangs and see what he has to say for himself."

And with that, the decision was made. There was a busy little bar on the outskirts of DC where they had met the shifty contact; he had promised Gilbert and Antonio that the Pip-boy would be undamaged and easy enough to obtain, as long as you knew what you were doing. And easy it was, it only took them the afternoon to retrieve the contraption, but now that they had it, if it wasn't functional it was next to useless.

So back to the shady contact it was, the bar was not a long trek, maybe an hour at most. They would definitely make it before nightfall.

And so the raiders set off, a spring in their step as they made their way over the broken land around Washington DC. They had nary a worry, other raiders and bandits alike would think twice before they tangoed with Gilbert and Antonio. They were recognized throughout the land as a great force to be reckoned with, feared by many and challenged by few. Gilbert saw no justification around the claims, but he soaked it up anyways. If the people feared him, then good. What he had done to deserve their fear? Hell if he knew.

The sun was only just beginning to set when the duo entered the bar. The doors swung open at Gilbert's command, and he paraded in like he owned the place, little sack in hand. Despite his attention-getting entrance, the life in the bar barely skipped a beat.

This place was the bee's knees, the cat's pajamas, it was in this bar that people would rest their wary bodies amidst a wrecked wasteland. Travelers of all kind joined here to have a drink and meet strangers, to gamble, to rest. And Gilbert was no different. He and Antonio had come to find work, which was plentiful among the needy people of the wasteland. Those who were not raiders or bandits themselves often needed work done that was too outlandish for them to handle on their own, from retrieving a stolen item to an assassination job, all willingly performed by Gilbert. He just attributed his reputation as hot and dangerous to his readiness to complete even the most horrific of jobs. He wasn't wrong.

This time, however, they hadn't been doing a job. They had heard of a lost treasure that could be worth many a cap if sold to the right people, and after hearing the details, they had no choice but to take up the quest. It seemed easy enough; run in, grab the Pip-boy, and make it out alive. But now that they couldn't turn the thing on, Gilbert and Antonio didn't know if it would be worth near as much.

The contact who had given them the details was called Alexandrei Lupei, and he was an odd man if Gilbert had ever seen one. His eyes were a bright red, just like his own, but it wasn't because he was an albino like Gilbert. His canines were long and fang-like, and his expression was bright-eyed and mischievous. His hair was a light blond with a hint of strawberry coloring that sometimes seemed to sparkle when he tilted his head. Every word he spoke would strike you as important, just by the way he would utter his sentences. You couldn't ignore him easily; he was just that type of guy.

Gilbert was reminded of these memorable traits as he sat down across from Alexandrei at his table in the corner of the bar with a few cups stacked on it. Antonio settled into the rugged chair next to him as Gilbert placed the broken Pip-boy on the table.

Alexandrei's arms were crossed and a smirk was plastered on his face, showing off his pointed teeth.

"You've been successful," he said, matter-of-factly.

Gilbert grunted, crossing his own arms to match Alex's. "It doesn't turn on."

Alexandrei's smirk faltered slightly. He took the Pip-boy from the table, sitting up and uncrossing his arms to do so. He flipped it to face him, pressing and holding a button on the top. His lips flattened out as he inspected the device, popping open a little space in the back and pulling at a wire. He smiled.

"I'll tell you what, I will fix it, free of charge, _if,_" he paused, "you can beat me at a game of liar's dice." His wide grin stretched across his face as he made the proposition.

Gilbert considered himself an amazing liar, so naturally, liar's dice was just his game. He uncrossed his arms, smiling wide and accepting the stranger's challenge. Beating him would be no problem.

"Alright, let's make this quick," he said with a grin. "It's not like I'll lose to _you_." Gilbert examined his opponent's wide, red eyes and face full of expression. His grin was mischievous but excited, and Gilbert reassured himself that he had nothing to worry about.

"I wouldn't be so sure, wastelander." Alexandrei reached for the cups stacked next to him, his pale hand grabbing at the darkly colored cup. He slid one across the table to Gilbert. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of dice, splitting them in half so that they each held five. Gilbert shook the dice in his cup, slamming the opaque instrument down on the table while Alexandrei did the same. He could feel Antonio's green eyes on him as he peeked under the rim at his dice, but he didn't dare look to his Spanish friend for reassurance.

"Your call, Gilbert." Alexandrei peeked at his own dice, smiling confidently and displaying his strange teeth. It wasn't until now that Gilbert noticed how young this man had to be. He looked like he was in his late teens at the most, and he wondered how Alex could have wound up with a gig like this at such a young age. He held quite a bit of power, not enough to be threatening towards the important people, but enough to gain the respect of the surrounding wastelanders. It was an odd position for someone in his particular business, but it was a good balance.

He peeked at his dice again. "Three fours," he called.

"Three fives," Alex replied.

"Four ones."

Gilbert eyed Alexandrei, daring him to call his bluff. He didn't.

"Five sixes." Alexandrei's lip quirked. Gilbert bit his lip. Having no sixes himself, the fanged man's call sounded ridiculous. His dice would have to read six on every single one.

"Liar!" He called, but something about the man's suddenly eerie stare and wide grin made the great Gilbert Beilschmidt doubt himself.

Alexandrei lifted his cup, revealing his dice and never breaking eye contact with Gilbert. Gilbert's eyes darted to the five dice lying on the table, all of them sixes. His heart sunk. He couldn't believe that he had been beaten by this fool. He stood up, snarling at the grinning man across the table, and picking up the broken Pip-boy as he did so. He knocked his cup to the side to show his own dice before turning and making his way to the busy exit, Antonio trailing behind.

"He cheated, he had to," Gilbert complained, his voice was coarse as he snarled the words and pushed the doors out of his way. Antonio just shrugged, following after him as he paced around outside. The sun had shrunk behind the horizon, but traces of pink and orange still dotted the sky, the light bouncing off of the clouds that were littered throughout vast expanse above their heads. The noisy interior of the bar was contrasted by the sudden quiet of the outside, with the exception of the whipping sound of a sharp wind that buffeted the two raiders. It wasn't a heavy wind, but it was enough to chill Gilbert into yearning the warmer atmosphere of the bar he had just exited. It had been starting to get a bit nippy, but it wasn't too bad. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"Maybe he's just lucky." Gilbert almost considered it; instead he immediately shot the idea down.

"No one is that lucky, Antonio. Not even me. Five sixes? What are the odds on that one? And how did he know that I would call it?"

"The people around here say he's been at it a long time, Gil. Longer than you'd think. He's probably picked up on that game by now, if the rumors are true." Gilbert paused his pacing to examine Antonio... He looked uncertain.

"What rumors?"

"You don't know?"

Gilbert didn't answer. He only looked expectantly at his partner.

"They say Alexandrei's older than he looks. Like, really old. Older than me and you, Gil."

How could that be? Alex was only a kid. _He even acted like a kid,_ Gilbert thought as he remembered those wide, red eyes and boyish smile. The way he was so eager to play a little game, so eager to cheat on it.

"That's dumb." Gilbert waved Antonio off, dropping the uninteresting topic. Instead he strapped the Pip-boy onto his wrist, just to have something to do with it. He paced in a circle a few more times before he stopped in front of the door. Voices could be heard from inside, muffled behind the barrier of wall.

"What are we going to do now?" Asked Antonio, scratching the stubble on his chin.

"We find someone who can fix it. Tomorrow. Because I could _really _go for a drink right now."

"We don't have any caps."

"I'll figure it out." Gilbert knew that he would. He always managed to find a solution last minute, whether it was a quick job or a smooth tongue that would get him his way depended on the situation. He preferred force if it was a viable option, but Antonio usually reigned him in if things got out of hand. Yet another thing this Spaniard was good for.

Gilbert pushed the door back open, now that he had calmed back down. He walked into the bar, right up to the counter where a bartender was serving drinks. He didn't dare glance back at the shifty strawberry-blond sitting in the corner table as he took a seat on a torn bar stool. Gilbert knew he was there, but he refused to acknowledge the presence of the dirty cheat.

"Gimme a beer, would you?" He asked nonchalantly as Antonio pulled out the stool next to him. The scruffy barkeep shot him a suspicious stare, but put down the mug he was holding to obey Gilbert's order. The German pulled a tattered cigarette box from his pants pocket, withdrawing a single cigarette and offering it to Antonio. When he declined, Gilbert shrugged and placed the smoke between his own lips, lit the end, and took a long drag just as a tall beer was placed on the bar before him.

"I'm tired," Gilbert complained. Antonio looked surprised as he received his own beer.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's been a long day. I feel like an old man." Antonio laughed. "I'm serious!" Antonio's laugh persisted still.

"Gil, what are you, twenty-something?" The Spaniard asked.

"Give or take."

Antonio shook his head. "Alright, whatever you say, _muchacho._"

"Don't speak your dumb language at me, I don't understand what you're saying. Anyways, you wouldn't understand, you're way younger than me."

"No I'm not! Not by much anyways. How many times are you going to bring that up?"

"Three years is a long time, Antonio."

"It's only two."

Gilbert paused to count on his fingers. "We don't know that for sure."

"You're being silly." He took a gulp of his beer. They both did.

Gilbert made a gagging sound as his lips parted from the rim of his tall glass. "Hey, you call this beer?" Antonio elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ya get what you pay for, Beilschmidt," the bartender replied.

Gilbert snickered. He wondered if the man knew that he probably wasn't going to pay anything. It's not like the barkeep would be able to stop him from taking what he wants anyways.

"Then I want some better beer!"

The barkeep only eyed him, squinting in disgust as Gilbert shouted at him. Other than that, Gilbert's request was ignored as the man took a damp cloth to the scratched surface of the bar.

Gilbert huffed some smoke. Yeah, he knew.

* * *

By the time the moon had risen high in the sky, few patrons remained in the bar. Gilbert's mind was muddled with beer, but his spirits remained low as he toyed with a few grains of salt that littered the bartop. His beer had been replaced at some point with a half-full glass of water, but he paid no attention to it. It was quiet now; everyone he'd either left for home or gone upstairs to find a place to rest. This bar was famous all over the capital wasteland, so it wasn't uncommon for every shabby room it had to be occupied. Gilbert hoped that there was still a bed open for him and Antonio, but he didn't _really _care. Beds were trivial matters at this point. He opened his mouth to say something to his companion, but stopped himself when he realized that the Spaniard was no longer sitting next to him. His mouth snapped shut and he put his head down on the table.

"You want that Pip-boy fixed, don't you?" Alexandrei's voice was strangely loud in Gilbert's ears. He wondered briefly when the strange man had taken a seat next to him.

"Duh," mumbled Gilbert, not bothering to pick his head up.

"You can still pay for it, you know."

"Don't got any caps," he muttered again.

"How about something else?"

Gilbert didn't say anything, he just lifted his eyelids and waited for Alex to continue.

"See that girl over there?" Alexandrei nodded towards a pretty young girl sifting through a pile of junk on a table behind them. Gilbert nodded.

"Sleep with her."

Gilbert lifted his head off of the table. Alex's odd request didn't even come as much of a surprise.

"Why?" Still, the request was very strange. What was Alex going to get out of a deal like that?

"Don't question me. If you can get her in bed, I'll fix your Pip-boy right up." Alexandrei's smile was way too creepy, his voice way too child-like.

Gilbert considered the proposition by surveying the girl. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen, with wavy brunet hair that ran all the way down her back. She picked a piece of merely from the table, examined it carefully, and then threw it on the ground nonchalantly. She was pretty, he'd give her that, but he wasn't all that interested.

He turned back to face Alexandrei. "Nah."

"Why not? You want to, don't you?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"Then why not?"

Gilbert felt that Alex knew the answer, but gave him a different one anyways."I'm tired."

Alexandrei's grin stretched from ear to ear. "That's what I thought."

Gilbert knew all too well what the man was referring to, and it wasn't about how tired Gilbert was. He sighed in defeat. He knew that he had given up his last chance of getting the Pip-boy fixed.

"If you're not going to then _I _will." Gilbert then realized that Alexandrei just had a sick sense of humor. Somehow, the strange boy knew exactly how this conversation was going to go before he even came over here. Somehow he knew that Gilbert wasn't as into girls as most people would assume of him. They were too dainty, too fragile... with arms too slim and voices too cute.

Gilbert watched half-heartedly as Alex hopped from the bar stool and strode over to where the girl sat alone, taking the seat across from her and leaning over the table with his elbows perching him up. Gilbert didn't care to pay any attention to the words that were spoken, but it didn't take long for him to catch sight of Alexandrei leading the giggling young woman through a door in the back of the bar. Okay, so that kid had some serious game.

Almost immediately after the couple had disappeared, a new racket was descending from upstairs. The sound of two people arguing was making its way down to Gilbert as someone became visible at the top of the stairs. The figure ran to the ground floor, nearly tripping over his feet as he was pursued by another man.

"Wait! Matthew!" Gilbert gritted his teeth. Within two words, He could tell that the accent was undeniably French.

"Leave me alone, Francis!" The boy tried to yell, but it still sounded more like a whisper. "Stop following me around, okay?"

"Matthew, _mon cher, _you know I could never!" The Frenchman cooed desperately.

"Then I guess I'll have to get as far away from you as I can!" His eyes watered a little bit as he opened the front door, sharing a cloudy glance with the other man a split second before shutting the door behind him. Gilbert didn't find it in him to worry about the quiet soul that had just ventured out on the wasteland alone in the dark, so he put his head down on the table once again. This is where he'd probably be sleeping so he tried to make himself comfortable.

But then he heard soft crying next to him and he sighed in annoyance.

"Can you shut it? Some people are trying to sleep." Why the hell was this grown man crying.

"Have you ever had your heart broken, _mon ami?_"

What was with this guy. "No."

"Surely you have?"

Gilbert was getting grumpy and uncomfortable. "No," he repeated.

"When you do, you will know it as the last time it will ever happen, because you know that you will never love again as long as you live." Gilbert rolled his eyes at the dramatic way that the stranger's words filled the air around him. At least he had stopped crying.

"You'll be fine," he mumbled into his elbow. Gilbert really didn't understand what the hell this guy's problem was. So that pretty boy walked out on him? Who gives a fuck, he'll get over it.

"I will not," the Frenchman slumped, unspeaking for a few moments. Gilbert was relieved. His eyes began to drift closed and his mind began to fog...

"Is that a Pip-boy?" God dammit.

He remembered that he had strapped the device to his wrist when he had gone outside earlier.

"Are you a vault-dweller?"

"What do you know about vault-dwellers?" Gilbert avoided the question.

"I know a _lot _about vault-dwellers, _mon ami._ I've even been in one once or twice, a vault I mean, not a vault-dweller. Well, I've been in one or two of those as well, actually..."

"TMI, buddy." Though Gilbert's tone said otherwise, he was actually quite interested. "Do you think you can fix this?" He held his wrist in front of the Frenchman and peered at him from behind it.

"What's wrong with it?" He asked as he reached to press a button on the top, holding it for a few seconds.

"It won't turn on."

"_Oui, _I can see that." He scratched his scruffy chin. "Yes, I think I could fix it, if I had the resources."

He turned a knob that produced a static sound. He looked a little surprised. "The radio works." He flicked it off again, and then moved what was left of Gilbert's water closer to his wrist, causing the Pip-boy to emit an annoying crackle. "As does the Geiger counter."

"This thing has a Geiger counter? Totally awesome."

"_Oui, oui, _the screen must be broken. An easy fix."

"Totally awesome!" Gilbert was more awake now than he was before, and wasn't near as annoyed by this creepy French bastard. "Can you fix it now?"

"_Non._"

"Oh." They sat in silence for a few uncomfortable heartbeats.

"I think it needs a new screen... or a new wire to connect the screen. I do not yet know."

"Well, let's get a new screen then."

"It's not that simple." There was another uncomfortable pause as Gilbert decided on how to reply.

"How not-simple is it?" It can't be hard to find a screen."

"You would be surprised, _mon ami._ A screen for that old thing would be near impossible to find." The Frenchman gave a haphazard gesture towards the Pip-boy.

Gilbert's shoulders slumped and he put his head back down with a drawn-out grunt. It seemed like one dead end after another.

"_Near _impossible," Francis repeated. Gilbert just wasn't feeling it anymore. He was tired, and it had been a long, disappointing day.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" His eyes were already shut and he was wishing for sleep. He was imagining how much his back would hurt in the morning, but he didn't care. He didn't even care to listen to the last of what Francis had to say, sleep was upon him before he even heard him mention anything else of vaults or Pip-boys. He didn't worry about it. Frenchie would get the message when Gilbert started snoring. It was assumed that he did, because when he was being shaken awake the next morning, he did not open his eyes to meet the blue ones of the Frenchman, but the green ones of his favorite companion.

Nothing that happened that day was very important to the story. Francis tailed them out of the bar and into the chilly wasteland as they set on their way, not really to anyone's utter disappointment. He wasn't useless, so they might as well have him along for a little while, see how it goes. And it turned out to be a good play on Gilbert's part. Francy-pants was pretty clever, and had caps to boot. Other than the minor addition to their team, our story's plot revolves around what Gilbert discovered that night.

They sat around a small fire. Antonio prodded the scraps of combustible material with a metal rod, causing embers to rise from the flames into the night sky. It was chilly out, and after a day of walking, relaxing around the warm fire was the only relief he would have from his exciting and adventurous life. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Recently, Gilbert had noticed something a little bit off. He was getting bored.

Gilbert let out a sigh. He felt so detached from the other two as they sat on the opposite side of the fire, chatting meaninglessly and getting to know each other. He still had the broken Pip-boy attached to his wrist, so he gave the knobs a turn out of boredom. It didn't really surprise him when the sound of static reached his ears. He looked up at Francis and Antonio. They didn't notice the sounds.

He turned another knob, and the sound of the static started to change. He realized quickly that he was tuning the radio. The sounds of a soft piano drifted through the Pip-boy's speakers. _Garbage, _he thought, and turned the knob again. Nothing but static until he came across the same station. Sighing, he dropped the knob and let the piano's melody sooth his tempered mind. It was actually quite relaxing, after all of the shit he's had to put up with lately, the classical music sounded more and more appealing the longer he listened. But it wasn't long before the song had come to an end, and Gilbert was a little surprised by a voice that came over the radio.

"I'm not really sure who it was by, but I do think that song was called Nocturne, and it's been one of my favorites since I was a child. Unfortunately, I think that is all I'm going to play tonight. Princess gets moody when I don't keep her fed, so I really must be going. Auf wiedersehen, listeners, don't forget to tune in tomorrow night for-"

"Hey Gil, what's that noise?" Gilbert flicked the knob that cut the radio off.

"Nothing, just some garbage station on the radio. Some guy playing a piano. Gay." Gilbert hoped that Antonio would just shrug and get back to his conversation with Francis, and that is exactly what he did. However, his thoughts lingered on the man that had spoken over the radio's speakers. He sounded familiar, or at least his accent did. It was German just like his own. German and elegant, full of poise and aristocracy. Gilbert wrinkled his nose at the thought, but still, he couldn't help but think highly of this German. He felt a sort of kinship with him, despite having only heard him speak for a maximum of ten seconds. Suddenly he wanted to know what he should tune in tomorrow night for, and he regretted switching off the radio before he could find out. He decided that he would give this stranger a chance, just out of sheer curiosity and nothing more.

The stranger on the radio wasn't actually German. He was Austrian, or that's what he claimed at least. He also had a cat named Princess. She was gray and white, with a little bow tied around her neck that represented the Austrian flag. Austria was a country famous for its music of the classical era, and didn't seem to get along with Prussia, which disappointed Gilbert to a degree. The piano that he would hear was thought to be one of the last functioning grand pianos in America. These are things he learned over the next week or three.

He didn't know much about his own heritage. He knew of his German roots, but he always preferred Prussian, no matter how many times educated people would tell him that the nation never existed. He knew it did, he trusted what his grandfather spoke of life before the war, even though he had never even seen it himself. Ludwig accepted it, though. He was convinced that he was a plain old German. It was awfully typical of his uptight little brother to see the logic in these kind of things, despite the fact that he was only about ten or so. Gilbert had never met a kid that was as no-fun and rule abiding as his little brother, and he couldn't imagine being that way when he was that age.

He shook the thought, tuning his Pip-boy to his new favorite channel. Yes, _his _Pip-boy. At some point, the hope of getting it fixed was abandoned. He didn't bother going to Alexandrei for help. He had gotten quite attached to the little device and the musician on the other end, and wasn't ready to give it up quite yet, not with the enticing Austrian playing for him every night. It didn't matter how many caps it was worth, Gilbert intended on hanging onto it for a while yet. He wouldn't dare tell anyone that, though.

This night, he was alone. Where were Antonio and Francis? Gilbert actually had no idea. The air outside was growing colder by the day, but he had taken refuge in a tiny little house in a suburb of DC. He figured that it belonged to someone, but he would cross that bridge if he ever got to it. The house was sufficiently barricaded and stocked with a few useful things, but as far as he could tell, the place was sans occupant for the time being. He warmed his hands by an old stove as the familiar Austrian voice aired over his radio and made his lips quirk into a smile.

"Good evening everyone, I hope that you are all well on the wasteland. Despite what you might think, I do know how harsh it can get sometimes." The man gave a tiny chuckle. Or was it more of a giggle? Whatever it was, it made Gilbert smile. "But I do have some good news. They're telling me that my listener count has been on the rise lately. Can you believe that?"

Gilbert was actually a little surprised. Sometimes he forgot that he was not the only one who could hear the Austrian's voice at night, and the thought made him a little bit upset. It was hard to be reminded that he was just one in a crowd for once. One thing he loved about the broadcasts was how personal they could be. Sometimes, Gilbert felt like he was there, wherever _there_ was, talking to this faceless man on the radio. It was a little painful to realize that he'd never be able to say anything back, but Gilbert could definitely fantasize. Maybe one day fate would allow for him to unite with the Austrian, but Gilbert doubted it. He knew nothing of his whereabouts, or even his name. All he could do was listen and dream.

"It seems a little hard to believe. Who would listen to me talk on and on about nothing in particular, with a few piano sonatas playing here and there?" Gilbert would. Gilbert would listen for the rest of his life if he could. The thought seemed a little bizarre in his mind, but for some reason, the Prussian only smiled.

"Anyways, I had a visitor just today. They were trying to convince me to start sending some sort of message to lash out at the cruel treatment of some wastelanders or something. The good fight. I didn't pay them too much attention, but some of the arguments that this anonymous traveler had held more than a few good points. For instance, slaving is bad. I'm sure you all have heard of Paradise Falls?" He paused. "Wow saying it out loud almost seems a little taboo." Gilbert chuckled at the innocence his Austrian possessed. Of course he had heard of Paradise falls. It was the epicenter of slave trade in the capital wasteland, and maybe even the entire Eastern half of the country. He had even been there a few times, just to scope out the scene. He very quickly decided that the life of a slave trader was not a life he wanted to lead.

"The stranger who confronted me today was very quick to explain to me the harsh nature of slavers and how they should be put down once and for all. I know it is not my place to start any sort of revolution, but I do feel obliged to mention that cruel treatment is wrong, and that you should never ever enslave anyone." Gilbert wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn't. He couldn't help but agree with everything that his Austrian preached.

"Like I said, I'm no activist. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try to influence any of my listeners to do the right thing." Gilbert heard the musician pause to draw in a deep breath. "I do hope that no trouble comes to me due to this announcement."

Gilbert could tell by the tiny laugh that the last statement was meant as a joke, so why did he worry? He reminded himself not to get too emotionally invested in this broadcast, as if he wasn't already. Underneath his casual and nonchalant layer, he knew that he wouldn't know what to do with himself without listening to the musician every single night. It had only been three weeks, but he honestly couldn't remember what he did with his evenings before he had come across this Pip-boy. What a find.

He hadn't realized that he had zoned out thinking until he heard music playing over the speakers. The sound was as breathtaking and beautiful as everything else that sourced from the Austrian, and Gilbert only wished that he could hear the notes played without the static filter of the radio's ancient speakers. He closed his eyes, imaging the graceful keystrokes that the musician's nimble fingers would be making as he played, he imagined how quick and delicately his fingertips would have to move to play such a full and wonderful melody. Not for the first time, Gilbert found himself imagining what he would look like. The disembodied voice that he would hear over the radio had a face, a chest, arms, hands, fingers... If only Gilbert had an image to tie this voice to. He would look perfect, Gilbert already knew. And that's all he really needed.

The German took in a short, swift breath as he realized where his thoughts were headed. He stopped himself; reluctant to feel anything more than a soft admiration for a musician he had never met before. why should he even admire this stranger at all? He had never thought he would ever find himself listening to this kind of music, so light and soothing at some times, heavy and nerve-racking at others. Still, he caught himself imagining the Austrian's fingertips like stone as they cascaded upon the deeper keys when the tempo picked up and the scale became minor. This thicker, heavier music made Gilbert withdraw from his internal conflict. It came unexpectedly, snapping him back to reality and washing away any of the negative thoughts he harbored toward his muddled and uncertain feelings. Gilbert didn't want this to become complicated. He didn't want to become a fool who swallowed his emotions until they ate him up. He was going to make this simple and to the point.

He was in love with this Austrian musician.


End file.
